Gentle Voice

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Self-Rhetorical Retorts

In the end (cue- Norah Jones and here we go again, backed by a strong baritone from Mr. Leonard Cohen)

We can start over again from the beginning (let us get get stubborn and embrace denial)

So that everything comes to a more congenial end (unlike the Biblical Armageddon, this is one of many stains of the erectile species' want for fairy tale endings become flesh
and bones realities but in the manifest manner of Disneyland)

Going back to the mobile limbs of the very beginning of renewed
and rewinded timeless clock (blame auspicious Buddhists)

And ending-less beginnings merging as air to wind in space with 78% part

nitrogen, 21% part oxygen and spillover gaseous gases such as carbon dioxide and invisible, indivisible elements, creating quite the atmosphere as we know and as we do not

Back to begining-less endings (now we are positively up our scurvy cavities, choking yearns and coughing interludes)

Making no sense whatsoever (what the tong? is this
an early mornin' chortling gong?)

But one pines for correctional facilities (dregs of
coercive prison mealtime musical bells ringing sharp in the distance)

Like the jails of old (man-made to walk straight
with head hung below wriggled neck)

One just might (that good old candlelight spark
nobody saw at the end of the tunnel's funnel is just so 'cos candles wax and melt and
sparks do not last even with toxic farts or fly like darts)

Find the serpent eating its own tail (most
allegorical of the ancient Egyptians; or was it the bloody Greeks? who cares-
except that this is one shitty Buddhist karma- accursed and jinxed snake eating its own
member so flexibly as to keep repeating the feat- like kissing yer anus without touching the penis every day)

And entertain the snake with new stories and
surprised endings (let us feign that for melodramatic effects) and use figures of speech for advertized gain)Keep multiplying profiting good
karmas (book winning prizes)

And that, my mates, is how the cuckoo crows, caws,
cries, cackles and crumbles

(and the pathetic end begins with a menu that lists eggs and chickens as 'same item, same price'- so one eats, both the omelette and the meat, for what doth a proud cock care, of matters that seed in his ever scrotchy and foul lair?)

Of queries such as 'who came first?' (when men know it was obviously the spunk and women keep quiet kn owing they are drunk)And that changes the whole subject (hum a Bobbed tune in here of Times They Err a Changin')

Feelin’ Me

*Sara Hummingbird Johnsen

shake n bake fried
slide... slithery and snakish, felined and fetished ...
relish that thought til it sours
salt and suck it for hours
tis madness this…
nothing that is

though its simply passion my friend
for words that rhyme and spin
for words that travel within

they stew themselves in heated steep
mulled and wallowed
swallowed and set aflame

Tis love my friend
Meant to be given

Receivery like thievery
I stash it in the cave
The humming chambers
The bloodied cage

Like gems of pirates brave
I eat it every meal I take
And wait the wing-ed wild
Set the sexy beast amok
Sings its own style.

Sties and stalls
This ties it all
We are pigs and sacred cows

To plant the seeds and watch them bleed
And see who gets lucky

Squeals and prayers sent your way
As I hear them everyday

Opposite posts
Closing quotes
We wrap round the world.
This nothing thisIs everything that is
Those inexplicable miracles
aligning signs and freeing rhymes
explicating ritual filling the space of fearWe’ve discovered the language
of connection
with ass injections
for a year.

You feelin’ me?
Stealing me?
And healing me
One and the same.

Closing Passage

November 21 2013

Seven Volcanoes In
Six Different Countries All Start Erupting Within Hours Of Each Other

Earth zits split!

Ha... the sun as it turns its belly ... yanks her babies from
our womb... but only slight... just enough to make them sneeze... perhaps it’s
all the pouring love we've stewed... sent up that woke it... or perhaps the
wakening has rumbled us... got those burn to yearn in smoking spouts all
toiling.

Its roiling... royally... boiling over me...

This wild ocean of notions. Rocks
the boat but I’m rowing Mr. bean... I’m a rowin'.

Buttered up toffee you coffee
being of a plan... what the hell is this man. Got me all alive again.

Grasping the straws. Sucking. Like a dying duckling fucking your
sense of innocence.

Light the fucking incense. Inhale deep and grin

We all die out here swaddles in wads
of sin it isn't bad... Sin bad... sail the majestic seas... meet all the wild
people